


Boy in the White Suit

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Gen, M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-07-30 10:10:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20095567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: Sam said no. Dean said yes. Sam lost his mind. Castiel lost his friends. That’s the road so far.





	1. Dean Said Yes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rirren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rirren/gifts).

> For a reader who wanted some dark!Sastiel, and for one who sent me a gif of Lucifer!Sam in The End to riff on.

Castiel was thrown halo-first into a rose bush, and he wished very much that it were the first time in his long life that could be said of him. Whole chunks of his memory had been stolen forever by Naomi, yet he could clearly remember a very angry big brother tossing him into the garden of Spiniensis in the Mediterranean once. It was why he had agreed so completely with C3PO’s strategy of letting the Wookie win; he had known better than to beat Raphael at a game of Weiqi after that day.

Today, the thorns hurt far more, since his grace had waned so badly. What might have been a case of bruised pride before was now a painful reminder that he was vulnerable even to vegetation at this point.

Useless.

“Found him at the gate. Clearly scouting.”

Castiel was no scout. He was a soldier. He had come to fight, not for the sake of reconnaissance.

But now that he thought of it, reconnaissance might not have been such a bad idea.

The figure in the white suit laughed. “Scouting for whom? All of his friends are dead. He’s not scouting. He’s here on a suicide mission. And I’m likely to oblige him. Get up, Castiel.” He waved his demonic entourage away carelessly.

When he spoke, it was with the same depth of voice as always, but it seemed weary beyond what an angel should feel. “I am not suicidal. I am without hope and welcome an end. That isn’t the same thing.”

There was that terrible laugh again. “What’s the difference?” he asked, and for a moment, there seemed to be an old flash of fond indulgence in the amusement.

“And another thing,” he murmured. He wondered if his heartbeat could be heard. Probably so. It didn’t matter. He was afraid and tired, and there wasn’t much point in pretending he wasn’t. “All my friends are not dead. One remains.”

“Ah. You’ve come for Solo in his carbonite? I’m not giving up my trophy. Besides, after what big brother Mikey did while possessing him, he’s not even Dean anymore. Keeping him on ice is a mercy.”

His chest hurt. Angels’ chests didn’t hurt. “No,” he responded hoarsely. “Not Dean. I don’t have the heart to even try to wake him now anyway. Not when it would mean he would know what has become of his own brother.”

“You don’t have a heart,” he snapped. Electricity crackled around them, expressing his irritation. That was fine. Irritation was better than indifference.

It also indicated that his racing pulse was not detectable. That was a bit of a comfort for his pride. Still, he was not going to let this go without correction. “I have a heart. It’s strength that I lack, but never heart. If I had no heart, I would not be here right now, and you know that.”

He sniffed once, and smoothed his white jacket as though he were bored. “Why are you here, Castiel?”

“You know that too, Sam.”

Familiar hazel eyes were icy now, but they still carried that old spark of intelligence. He was changed, no question, but he was still Sam. “Entertain me.”

Castiel forced a small smile. “I’m here to save my last friend, Sam. And when I have, he will save his brother. Then together we will decide what comes next.”

This time, the laugh was less sardonic. “Whatever you think your friend was, he’s gone. And whatever I am now, it is not your friend.”

“Sam-“

“Don’t. Castiel, don’t pretend.”

“You could have just killed me. But you haven’t.”

“You’re dying anyway. I can smell it. Your wings are decaying. Even if I can’t see them, I know they are.”

Castiel sighed. “The point is that you could have finished me, and you haven’t.”

“There is no point. To that or anything else.”

And now that pounding heart ached. Sam was ever the optimist, the last one to give in, and the last to give up. This time, it would have to be Castiel who refused to give up. He didn’t know what this creature was now, but he did know what it used to be, and he loved that friend. He had fought to save him before, and now he would fight again. If he failed, it would be because his life gave out, not because his will did. He owed Sam that.

“So why are you here, Angel?”

“I’ve been watching you.”

A single bark of laughter was his response.

He took a breath and continued with determination. “You haven’t done what he did, Sam. You aren’t him. Lucifer. You’re not Lucifer.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m close enough. There’s no daylight between us.”

The idea hurt Castiel deeply. “Of course there is!” he protested. “Sam, you are more powerful than he ever was, but you’re kinder! You’re still human, Sam. Let me prove it to you.”

“I allowed Lucifer to be what he was. You don’t even know how many he killed. All because I wasn’t strong enough. Because it took me so long to take control. Because it took me so long to see that…”

The sob in Sam’s throat was heartbreaking, and yet it was the first sign Castiel truly had been given that his friend was still his friend. Up until that moment, he was relying on faith. But now he knew. This was still Sam. “Sam, you can’t kill your brother. That’s not weakness! That’s humanity! You couldn’t stop the war because it meant having to kill Dean to do it.”

“And now he may as well be dead.”

Blue eyes lowered. “Sam, you rule over all the creatures of Hell. You’ve used them to destroy monsters who hunt people all over the world, not to destroy humans themselves. Dean would be proud of you.”

“You know how many angels I crushed with my bare hands?” he roared with a sudden rage.

He swallowed down his fear. “I’m aware-“

“All of them!” Sam shook his head. “The answer is all of them, Cas! Every last one but you and the bastard locked inside my brother’s head. That wasn’t all Lucifer, and you know it. That was me. It was a genocide, Castiel, against your people.”

It seared into the last of his grace, the loneliness and grief. But he shook his head defiantly. “Sam, Lucifer killed nearly every brother and sister I have ever loved. Michael killed just as many. Those you slaughtered were the desperate ones at the end who went mad and attacked the humans in vengeance. I told you. I’ve been watching, Sam.”

“How many humans did I kill? How many vessels and meat suits? How many possessed innocents did I shred through?”

“Talk to me, Sam. Please. Just talk.”

Suspicion smoldered in his eyes, but he nodded. “First you. How did you get to me?”

“Your demons are strangely loyal. But I enlisted the help of one particularly loathsome beast that is loyal only to himself.”

A sneer of disgust came over him then. “Crowley. I’ve had whole legions out looking for him.”

“Suffice it to say that he has no love for you,” Castiel mumbled dryly, “but does have a great deal of insider information, even now. Someone called Cecily is apparently biding her time to see who comes out on top in the end. Playing both sides, as it were.”

Sam smiled, and for an instant he looked just as Lucifer would. “Not for much longer. And the fate of Mr. Crowley?”

“He has slithered away into another realm which he says is far more civilized. Purgatory.”

“That’s an actual place?”

“He seems to think so.”

Sam looked thoughtful, and for an instant, Castiel thought he was humming an eerie melody to himself. “All right. So long as he doesn’t slither back into my territory.”

“I doubt he will have the means or the will to do so. It is your turn, Sam.”

“You know what happened. You’ve been watching me.”

Castiel shrugged. “I know you somehow burned through Lucifer the way he burned through his vessel Nick. I know you snuffed out his loyalists and took the throne of Hell for yourself, and lured Michael there, where you froze him solid somehow, so a rescue of Dean might be possible one day. I know you have caused the extinction of everything from chupacabra to rugarus and forced an armistice with the alpha vampire. I know Lucifer killed Gabriel but you were the one who disposed of Raphael. I know you forbid your demons to harm humans, and instead let them choose between preying upon one another or battling vengeful spirits and banshees for sport.”

Sam snorted. “Sounds like you know everything.”

“The gladiator rings are impressive, Sam. I hear the demon Meg is undefeated in the 7th Circle.”

“For now. Champions topple all the time. So long as she continues to rip open other demons, she’s not ripping up humans. Until I can find a way to kill all of them myself, it’s the next best thing. And it keeps the horde happy.”

“Sam? You are still the man I called friend. You are.”

Misery sighed out from a set of sweet lips. “I’ll never be that man again, Cas. Don’t pretend. I’m not.”

“It’s clearly still you, Sam. You’re right that I don’t know what you’ve become. What you are doesn’t have a name, since you’re the only one. What you are has never been before. There is a story whispered among ancient things of a Darkness nearly so powerful as God Himself, and for a time I thought perhaps you were that prophesied beast.” He saw Sam’s flinch, and was both heartened and sorry about it. “But I have been watching you, and I know now that you’re no such thing. Besides, the story says that Lucifer was instrumental in chaining that creature somehow, and clearly my brother was no match for you. You’re new, Sam. And because of that, only you have the right to choose what you will be.”

The hazel eyes narrowed, and for the first time in two years, there was a drop of fear pooling in them. How many nights had Castiel burned through his grace, burned through magic spells and hours of precious sleep an angel should never need, how many, just to see across oceans and realms into Sam Winchester’s eyes? Not even for a moment had there been fear in them. Loathing, terrifying bitter hate, wrath beyond compare, then deep, overwhelming sadness. Never fear. What had Sam Winchester to fear?

“You’re afraid you’ll choose malice,” Castiel breathed.

Sam’s eyes rolled up again, and the pain smoldered there until it became caustic madness by the time he met Castiel’s stare again. “I’m the new Devil, Cas. There’s no choice. Michael was right. Free will is nothing but illusion. I grabbed Lucifer by my own throat, and burned him out. But in the end, I’m no different. I am malice, Castiel. Lucifer’s perfect vessel could be nothing less, and I’m even more than he bargained for.” A melody danced on his tongue now, illustrating how far gone into delirium he had traveled. “Taking the reins of Hell,” he sang out in a mumble, “I will reign in Hell, my fire rains in Hell…”

The intelligence was still there, and the good heart too. Castiel was certain of it. But the rationality? Could a man, even one like Sam, become what he was without losing his mind? Without destroying his soul? “Sam, come back to me. Can you?”

The relief of lunacy was too strong a pull. The thing that used to be Sam continued humming to himself, and it turned back to its roses. “Twas Brillig, and the slithy toves, did gyre and gimble in the wabe, painting the roses, painting the roses, painting them all blood red…”

Pain seared through his heart. “Sam, please. We were talking,” he pleaded.

The eyes were full of sorrow, but they refused to see the angel. “You can sit and cry where the roses grow, sit and cry, not a soul will know…” A smile graced trembling lips. “Every rose has its thorn. Just like every night has its dawn. Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song. Every rose has its thorn.” His hand stilled over a white rosebud. As Castiel watched, the flower crumbled into ash without Sam’s fingers ever touching it. “The scar...the scar remains...to see you cuts me like a knife. I guess every rose…” At last, he turned to his old friend. This time, there was no melody to his lyrics. “Instead of making love, we both...made our separate ways.”

Tears washed Castiel’s face. “Sam, I have loved you. All this time, I’ve loved you! Please. Say the word, and I will love you forever! We will save your brother, Sam, and together, we can-“

“He’s dead.”

His breath caught in his throat. “No,” he choked. “No, Dean-He’s alive! I know he-“

“Dean lives inside a wishing well, and I wish him well, wish him well. It’s Sam who is dead. Love him forever, but what is ever for? He can’t feel love, and love can’t touch him, not through so many layers of plaid, flannel and iniquity, not through so many layers of shattered souls, black smoke and smeared stains of grace, and dried blood. He’s not drowning in his own blood so much as swimming in everyone else’s. Whatever made him worth loving, if anything ever did, died when he let Lucifer fill every dark corner of him, like the most thorough lover he’s ever had.”

Castiel flinched at the comparison.

Sam’s singsong voice was back. “Dean said yes; Sam said no. Sam said no, because Dean said so. Dean went bad, Sam went mad, the world died screaming like Mom and Dad.”

“Sam-“

“I’ve had enough of this!” Sam roared suddenly. The wit had returned to his face, but so had the wrath. “Why are you here, Castiel? Dean is buried under layers of ice, wrapped around a psychotic archangel, and Sam is buried under layers of hate, mostly for himself. They’re dead. Both of them. I’m not Sam. Whatever I am, I stay alive only to bring Hell to heel, and to keep Dean and therefore Michael on ice. Beyond that, there is no plan, no point to any of this. I’m only alive because it could yet be worse, and so instead, I survive until a better plan comes along which will allow me to die completely without the world burning again. It was everything I could do to put it out the first time.”

“But you did!” Castiel sobbed. “You ended the destruction, Sam! You burned out Lucifer, you froze Michael inside the only Cage strong enough to hold him, and you put out the fires that ate up your world! You did all that!”

“He said yes,” Sam snarled. “I said no. And in the end, it came down to the same thing we fought so hard against. He said yes because he didn’t believe in me. And then I had to say yes in order to keep Michael from destroying all of humanity. To provide that balance. When it was clear that Lucifer would scorch the earth just as badly, I killed him inside my own body, let his poison leak out into me as he burned. I couldn’t let that happen to Dean. I can’t burn out Michael, not without letting him corrupt Dean. If I can’t pull Michael out, I can’t kill him. Dean deserves to die clean, or not at all.”

“Sam? Can you feel anything I’m saying to you? I love you. I’m not giving up on you!”

“So says the man called Frost: Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate to say that, for destruction, ice is also great...and would suffice.” Sam’s hand grabbed hold of a rose stem, ignoring the grasp of the thorns. “Dagon,” he hissed. “Attend me.”

A demon appeared near them, with a sharp smile. “Yes, great Lord.”

“You will take this angel to my private prison. And when you’ve finished the task of confining him, you’ll seek out Cecily and rip her from her meatsuit one choking breath of black smoke at a time until there’s nothing left to piece itself back together. Leave the meatsuit to the humans. Alive, if possible.”

Dagon grinned. “Yes, great Lord.” She took hold of Castiel’s arm.

But Sam put his hand up to stop her. He gave Castiel the rose he had torn, which had torn his hand. Blood smeared the crushed thorns. “For company,” he said, and turned back to his garden.

As Castiel was pulled away, by what must have been demon nobility, he heard Sam’s crooked voice whispering a sorry melody.

“Ashes, ashes, they all fall down…”


	2. Hail Me

The thing that used to be Sam smiled to itself as the blue eyes fluttered open at last. He wasn’t sure how long he had been watching the angel sleep. It was soothing somehow. And it had the bonus pleasure of Castiel’s complete terror and disorientation upon awakening.

The fear in those eyes was thrilling. It made Sam want to menace him further. It made him want to save him instead. No matter what Sam wasn’t anymore, this was his angel, to do with as he pleased, and he was torn constantly between wanting to horrify him and wanting to protect him.

The way the beautiful prisoner shuddered in his breath and tried to calm his heartbeat was gorgeous.

“Good morning, Angel,” he mocked in a soft voice. “Sleep well?”

Grief replaced the fear, and those blue eyes closed. Castiel let his head drop back against the wall in defeat. “Yes,” he lied in that deep voice of his. “Quite well, thank you, Sam. You’re a generous host.”

The bitter taste of Castiel’s sarcasm was quickly becoming Sam’s favorite way to break his fast. “Do angels dream?” He had asked the same question each morning for the last eight days since their reunion.

Heartache flinched across Castiel’s face. “Not anymore,” he breathed hoarsely.

“It’s easier that way,” Sam soothed. “No dreams mean no nightmares.”

“No hope and yet no end.”

He smiled. “You’re really bleak today.”

“Give me a reason I shouldn’t be.”

“You can have anything you want, Angel. I’ll have it served to you.”

“Your heart or your head. I prefer one, but the other will do.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “I’m smarter than you are,” he snapped. “You wouldn’t know what to do with my head.”

“Then give me your heart instead, Sam.” It was a weary voice, devoid of hope and humor. Sam’s chest constricted with sympathy.

He crushed it down as he well as he could. “Angel-“

At last, there was the blue spark Sam remembered in his friend, the one not even he could snuff out entirely. “Call me by my name! You owe me that, at least! After everything we went through together! After everything I gave for you!”

Sam smiled with a tiny bit of relief. “When you stop calling me human, I’ll stop addressing you as Angel.”

The harsh laugh rumbled across the room. “You win, Sam. Because I don’t know what either of us is, but I know we are neither human nor angel any longer. We are just Sam and Castiel. Do me the kindness of calling me what I still am, instead of mocking me for what I’ll never be again.”

It was a fair request. “We have argued for days now about whether I am the Sam you knew. Perhaps that isn’t what matters anymore. You say I owe you. Maybe you’ve earned some honesty now. I fight you about what I am because I’m afraid I’m what I’ve always been. That this was always me. This twisted, wicked thing was always in me, and no matter what happened, I would always have become this.”

Castiel turned to look at him for the first time since awakening. “Sam? Having the potential to be something and being it are two very different things. I had the potential to be Heaven’s most loyal soldier. But I wasn’t. I had the potential to become your devoted lover. I’m not.”

The way Castiel spoke of his love so plainly still threw Sam off-balance even after the week they had spent matching wits and baring truths between them. “Yes, you are,” he whispered.

The first tears of the day slipped past dark lashes to trail down a handsome face. “Yes,” Castiel surrendered. “I am. I love you. I’m forgetting why, but I do, just as surely as I ever did.”

“You were Dean’s friend. Not mine. You fell for Dean.”

The bitter laugh through a dry throat made Sam cringe. “Did I? I don’t remember that either. The Righteous Ass. I told him once that I was not here to perch on his shoulder. Now here I am, your imprisoned cricket player.”

It took Sam just a moment, but then he laughed with a heart full of fondness. “Cricket. It’s not the sport, Cas. It’s a character. Jiminy Cricket. The conscience.”

“Hm. I think I’d prefer to have a cricket bat than six cricket legs. Though it would be nice to fly again, the bat would be more useful against your head.”

Sam smirked. “You love me so dearly, yet that is the second time you’ve mentioned wanting to-“

“Bash your head until you begin to make sense again? I would do so with great love, I promise.”

He couldn’t help laughing at the dark words. “I doubt you could make a dent,” he mused. “And the first blow would have to kill me.”

Castiel simply heaved a sigh. “I’m tired of talking. Why don’t you kill me already?”

“How would you like me to kill you, Cas?”

It must have been the sudden softness in his voice that pulled Castiel’s gaze back to him. The angel sat, as always, on the cold floor of the cell, against the wall. He slept that way, when he slept at all. Sam had offered him a cot, but had received only a defiant shrug. He had not offered twice. “Are you really asking that?” he murmured.

The Boy King forced a small smile. “I don’t want you dead. But I may have to kill you, Cas. So tell me now how you would like to die.”

“I’d like to die in honorable battle defending that which I know to be right, secure in my knowledge that Sam Winchester is safe and happy, at his brother’s side. Arrange for that, and I promise to go willingly.”

“You’re asking a lot.”

“You’re asking how to kill me, Sam. I think my response is exactly as sensible as the question itself.”

Sam stared at him for a full minute. If he looked hard enough, and gnawed gently at his own soul for fuel just enough, he could see what remained of Castiel’s proud wings, broken and defeated but held in a way that showed no capitulation. “You’re not going to give up, are you?” he asked with an awed voice. “I could torture you day in and out, and you’re not going to give up.”

“No, Sam,” he answered wearily. “I’m not. You’ll have to kill me, and it’ll have to be your own imagination which decides how. I’m not giving up on you. You’re my friend. And you deserve to be saved.”

His breath was haggard, but Sam ignored it. He sighed it out. Then he raised his fingers, the two he used for slaying, and waved away Castiel’s chains. He was weary too. There was no reason to continue the charade. Either Castiel knew what he was, or he would never see it, and Sam didn’t care which.

The angel stared up at him. “Sam?”

“Then save me, Cas,” he whispered. “I’m too tired to fight you anymore. I’ve loved you for too long to keep this up. And even if I know I don’t deserve it, I want to be saved.”

It was painful to watch the ancient thing struggle to his feet. After remaining in that position for so long, Castiel’s joints were protesting their sudden use. But stand, he did, and he watched Sam suspiciously in the meantime. “You’re letting me go?”

“I’m letting you go. I’m so tired, Cas. I burn through souls like breathing air, to keep Hell from rising. I killed every remaining angel to quell Heaven’s descent. I’ve been the only power in the middle. But there’s yet one who lives, in the sinus cavity of my brother, and I’ve got one final Hail Mary in mind to dispose of it.”

“Sam?”

His gaze wandered aimlessly then. “Hail Mary, full of Grace, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our desperate mistakes,” he murmured. “Merry Mary, mother of Dean. Merry Mary, blood red queen. Mary, Mary, quite contrary. Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.” The rhymes and melodies danced in his mind, the words skittering from his memory like roaches from the light. “Mary, did you know, that your baby boy would slaughter all the nations? Did you know? That your baby boy would destroy all creation? Did you know that your baby boy was Heaven’s pawn to damn? That sleeping child you’re holding is Hell’s boy king Sam?”

“Sam? Take me to Dean. Please. Let’s save your brother. You need him. Please.”

“Dean? Dean’s dead, Cas. I’ve just been stringing along your sense of loyalty-“

“He’s not dead! I know he’s not.”

“He died screaming. It was breathtaking how he screamed in the end. For you. He prayed for you. Didn’t you hear him? Begged you to save him.” He sighed mockingly. “Dean, Dean, drama queen. I’ve been stringing you along, little Cricket. Because I’ve got no strings to hold me down. And now neither do you. I’m letting you go, so you can see for yourself. Dean’s been dead for a long time, poor Cricket.”

The blue eyes were filled with pain, but he shook his head. “Dean’s alive. You’ve protected him. I know this. He isn’t dead.”

Sam watched him with amusement. “You don’t believe me.”

His old friend gave him a sad smile. “Sam? I believe in you. But for days, and even in the last two minutes, you’ve lied to me so adeptly that I cannot believe anything you tell me. But you’ve released me. And you’re talking about saving Dean, about having a plan to extract Michael. So spare me talk of praying and begging, and any other nonsense you want to torment me with, and let us just find Dean for now. We will figure out the rest once we’ve saved him.”

Sam’s own smile was wicked. It delighted him that Castiel was not simply taking his stories as truth, that he would not trust Sam’s words, but was stubborn enough to trust Sam himself. “Castiel? I may yet have to kill you one day. But for the rest of today, I think I’ll love you instead.”

With that, he focused his concentration on Dean’s location, and transported them both with just a puff of a few smoldering souls.


	3. Full of Grace

It had all been for nothing, when Dean said yes to Michael.

And Sam had no one to blame for that but himself.

Dean had lost his faith in Sam, then he had lost his mind, and finally he had lost his autonomy. Lucifer had been forced to jump ship, from a vessel that was coming apart at the seams, into the youngest of John’s sons, and Adam was lost now too.

“Was it because he said yes? Or was it because I said no?” he choked out to his last friend as the world burned around them. It didn’t really matter. Both were his fault.

What remained of Castiel had sighed. “I don’t know, Sam,” he had murmured. “I truly don’t know. All of Heaven and Hell was against you, Sam. You and your brother were never meant to resist at all. You did everything you could do. So did Dean. There was only ever going to be one outcome, and we each knew this was it.”

But it wasn’t. Sam had sought out Lucifer, just as Adam was collapsing, and he had given his permission. The archangels’ armies had battled for weeks, scarring the earth. Then at last the two generals had faced off again, and Sam had done it. He had refused to let Lucifer kill Michael while he was wearing Dean. He had gathered his strength to him, had crushed Lucifer inside his own windpipe, made the Devil’s power his own, and had brought Michael to a stalemate. He had used the last of Lucifer’s icy grace to trap his brother, to freeze him indefinitely.

Now here he was, with his last friend at his side again. He had to face Dean, and he had to face what he had done, to him, to the world, to Castiel, and to himself.

There was just one thing he thought might work, might enable him to extract Michael without harming Dean, and then his brother could be saved. The words had tripped along in his mind all this time, torturing his wit and mocking him.

_Hail Mary, full of Grace..._

Sam sighed out his anguish for one last minute, then took a deep breath. He let his tears burn to steam before they could slip down his cheeks. “You’re ready?” He growled it out at Castiel.

“Sam, we have no idea what this will do to you. Or to him. Nor even to me,” he added as a sort of careless afterthought.

“It’s all we’ve got left to try, Cas.”

The angel gave him a weary, sad smile. “You know me. Always happy to bleed for the Winchesters.”

Sam tried to smile back, but it came on like a grimace. His head felt clearer than it had in a long time, and he knew it was Castiel’s healing from a moment ago. The past few weeks and their toll on him was not so pronounced as before. It nearly frightened him how much like the real Sam he felt suddenly. “Thank you for this, Cas. I know you still don’t trust me. I’m not Dean.” The words stuck in his throat painfully. He wasn’t Dean. He could never be Dean. Dean, who had tried all their lives to be their father. Dean, who had been what Sam had always tried to be.

The deep voice was kinder than he had expected, and so was the hand which offered him the only blade which could cut the angel, at least at his full strength. “You’re not Dean. But you’re still Sam, and you are my friend.”

This surprised him into hesitating. “You’re Dean’s friend,” he insisted. “You’re helping me because of him.” His mind was fogging again. Castiel’s grace was not nearly so potent as it had once been.

The sad blue eyes narrowed. “Sam, I…” He sighed again. “I don’t ever know how much is getting through when I speak to you. I’ve tried to tell you...It hardly matters now. I will be dead soon, regardless. I hope to help in some small way before I go. So yes. I’m ready.”

Sam took a deep breath. He was well aware that what he was doing might kill all three of them, or at least hasten their deaths. But what did they have to lose? The apocalypse had come and gone, and all their friends were dead. Sam had done everything he could do to hold back the wave of hellfire and sulfur which threatened all of humanity and nature. Maybe now, he just wanted to let it all go off the rails and just save his brother, one last time.

The heat from the ring of holy fire was consuming the ice quickly, now that Sam was no longer expending soul power to actively keep it frozen. They would need to move fast from here. Michael was awakening.

Cutting Castiel was harder than it should have been, considering how easily Sam had slashed through so many angels, demons, monsters and even humans lately. Castiel had taken significant damage in the weeks of fighting, wherever he had been, and he wasn’t healing the way he might have before. He winced at the pain in a way he wouldn’t have in the past. But he nodded, and Sam lowered his lips to the blood which seeped from the vessel.

The rush which came from consuming Castiel’s blood, from the blood of a vessel possessed by an angel, immediately overwhelmed his senses. The world opened up at a dangerous tilt, and he stumbled badly. He could hear only the pounding of his own heart, could see only the blur of blue and red that was Castiel’s eyes and blood. It was nothing like the demon blood had been.

“It burns!” he hissed suddenly. It had been so long since he had felt physical pain that it shocked him. “God, Cas! It-it burns!”

“I cannot heal that, Sam,” a voice insisted in desperation. “I’m so sorry. It’s your blood, mixing with mine. You must use it.”

_Use it._

Sam staggered forward. Before him was a furious archangel who looked like his brother, dripping with water and wrath, behind a ring of flames.

“This will not hold me forever. You know that. And when I break free, I will exact such exquisite pain upon you and your little pet, the rebel, that you will beg me to kill you! You will beg for Death!”

The once and future hunter glowered through his blurred vision. “You first,” he snarled, and lifted his hand with fingers extended toward the thing inside his brother.

The way he used it wasn’t all that different from the demon blood, not really. He could hear screaming, tearing, and he wondered from a dissociative point of view if the sounds were coming from him. He could hear Castiel’s deep voice spouting Enochian, then coughing, which was strange. Had he heard the angel cough before? Then Dean’s body was twisting and seizing, and his mind slammed back into reality, and, yes, that screaming was definitely Sam’s, the ripping was definitely Sam’s muscle trying to tear from bone.

He held on. One way or another, this would be over soon. Either he would save his brother, or he would die trying, and that was the way it should be at the end of the world.

It turned out to be the end of Michael instead, and that surprised everyone involved.

Dean thudded to the ground, and Castiel crawled to him, scorching himself on the burning oil, but he reached Dean in time to lay on hands. The burn across Castiel’s arm and the side of his face were unlikely to heal, but it seemed as though he could not even feel it. The fact that he was able to cross at all was evidence of just how far Castiel had fallen, how little angel still remained.

Dean sputtered, then turned to his side on the ground and vomited. Then he sobbed just once, and slept hard.

Castiel cleaned him up with his grace, but shook his head when Sam gave him a frantic, questioning look. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “We must all rest.”

It was like permission, and Sam dropped to the floor in a breath. “Did I do it? Is he-Michael, is he gone?” Blood smeared across his mouth and splattered onto the chest of his white suit.

Blue eyes stared at him with exhaustion and awe. “Not just gone, Sam. You’ve killed him. You’ve killed the first, the last, the strongest, of the Firstborns.”

Sam nodded and slumped further onto the ground. “But did I save Dean?” he whimpered. “Did I save my brother?”

Castiel was fading fast, but he spared the energy to smile. “No matter what happens now, Sam, your brother is free. You’ve done that. You’ve freed him.”

Blackness came over him like a heavy blanket, and no amount of fighting would keep him awake long. Confusing melodies began creeping into his head on spindly legs, the way they always did when he was too tired to hiss them away with his anger. The scraping and gnawing at his mind left a humming sound in his throat that sighed out his lips before the world faded around him.

“Hail Mary, burns on her face, disappears without a trace. Demons did what they came to do, burned Dean to ash for loving you, burned Jess, John, Bobby and the angel too…” He tried to reach up to touch the burn across Castiel’s face, but everything was turning to cinders around him, and nothing really mattered. “Anyone can see...nothing really matters to me.”

No matter what happened now, he thought. It didn’t matter if the thing that was once Sam died now. If Dean was free, none of it mattered now.

“Any way the wind blows…”


	4. By Your Side

The fact that Castiel did not die was perhaps the most surprising thing, other than Sam’s triumph over Michael, that the angel himself had ever experienced. Even the betrayal of Uriel had not shocked him so. He had resigned himself to death, and was too stunned even to be relieved when it suddenly occurred to him that he was finally healing. 

So his grace had not completely abandoned him. Interesting. For weeks, he had been in so much pain that any remaining Rit Zien would have finished him off by now. But here he was, three weeks past his foolish mission to save the Winchester brothers, and he was healing after all. 

He needed less sleep as the days went on, so he was the one sitting by Dean’s side when he finally awoke. It was not gentle. The man made a horrible sound, and then he was vomiting again, as though his weeks-long coma had never happened. Castiel leapt up to help him. “It’s all right,” he soothed. He knew he had no true bedside manner, but he had watched an unknowable number of humans caring for one another in these horrific times, and that was something they always said, whether or not it was true. “It’s all right, Dean. I’m here.”

“Cas?” The man choked out the syllable, and looked around him blindly. 

“Shh. You’re all right.” The shushing was the one thing he understood. The onomatopoeia of shush mimicked the sounds of a mother’s womb, and it soothed mammals even into their adulthood, particularly humans, because it was something universal which nearly all mothers said to their infants by instinct. The sounds of mothering made humans feel safe. It was a shame Dean, and especially Sam, had experienced so little of it. 

Dean’s hands reached for his gray face. “Cas,” he groaned again. 

The man lay back on the Army green cot again. Castiel cleaned him and the floor with his grace. It was nice to still have that ability. He touched Dean’s forehead to ease the remaining pain. There were no injuries, not really. But there were broken parts of Dean which Castiel suspected his grace could do little for. “I’m here,” he said. 

“Cas? Sam?”

The almost-angel sighed. “He’s...he saved you, Dean. He pulled Michael from you, and killed him.”

Green eyes filled with confusion and fear. “Michael killed him?” he croaked desperately. 

“No. Shh, Dean. Sam killed Michael. But what he had to do...He’s alive, Dean. But he’s not…”

“Sam.”

Castiel sighed again. “Rest now, my friend. When you’re strong enough, I’ll take you to him.”

“Watch him, Cas,” Dean pleaded weakly. “Watch over my brother.”

Heartache filled him, and he could feel the tears forming. But Dean couldn’t see them anyway. He had already drifted off. “I do, Dean. I have and will. Always.”


	5. The House That Sam Built

“Sit and cry,” the whisper repeated over and over and over and over.

The nails were cracked.

“Not a soul will know.”

Fingers from one hand pulled at the nails on the other.

“Sit and cry, where the roses grow…”

The lights were flickering ominously above.

“Sit and cry, Dean said so. Sit and cry...the roses grow…”

The lights weren’t flickering. He was.

“And she’s buying a stairway to Heaven...When she gets there, she knows...where the blood rose grows...You know sometimes words have no meaning.”

“Two meanings.”

The thing that used to be Sam did not startle, nor even look up from his hands. His fingertips were bleeding again. He blew cool air on them, and watched them heal over, then continued to pick at them again. “Just a spring clean for brother Dean.”

A large figure sat beside him on the floor. “Sammy?”

“Sam said no.”

“I know you did, man. You did good. I know that.”

“Castiel won’t smite me,” he murmured. “His brothers can’t fight me...Brother Dean, May Queen, rhymes with just a spring clean. Sam said no. Sam said no. Sam said no.”

The room was rocking again.

“Shh. Sam, it’s okay-“

“Don’t touch me!” The sudden scream physically blew his visitor from him, back into the padded wall. Then he was back to picking at his hands. “And he’s buying a stairway from Heaven.”

Dean recovered himself with some effort. This time, when he sat beside Sam, he left more distance between them. “Sam, can you hear me if I talk to you?”

“Cas has blue eyes, but he don’t know...You don’t know what it’s like to be the bad man. To be the sad man. Behind blue eyes.”

The room wasn’t rocking. It was him.

“Sammy…” There was a hitch to the voice now, and a spark of interest deep inside him wondered if he had hurt his visitor. The concern drifted away as quickly as every melody did. “Sammy, I want you to listen. Can you?”

“If I swallow anything evil, promise me you’ll cut my throat.”

Dean shuddered in his periphery. “That ain’t how that song goes, Sam.” A rough, trembling hand dragged down his face. “God, kid,” he tried to laugh. “You’ve ruined almost every song I know past few weeks.”

“Sam said no.” It was a breath, and not one he meant to let out. That happened all the time now. Words just flowed from him without any thought attached.

“I know, Sam. I know you did.”

“I believed in us. Why don’t you believe in us too?”

The jagged gasp was a sob; Sam was certain even without looking at him. “God, Sam, please. I’m so sorry. This-this is all on me. I’m so, so sorry.”

“On me. In me. Lucifer died in me. He’s still dead in me.” The words took on a melody of their own. “Pulled Michael out of Dean, but Sam will never be clean...never be clean. I’m dead inside. He’s dead inside.”

The sound of weeping was coming from somewhere in the room. Sam didn’t bother trying to locate the source. He healed his hands again, to continue picking.

“No,” that persistent, stubborn voice argued. “Cas, he cleaned-Cas says there’s nothing left but the-but the-“

“I am what I am, and that’s all I will be. Lucifer’s gone so now it’s just me.”

Silence stood between them. But it was never truly silent, not so long as Sam’s mind still whirred relentlessly inside.

So he went on. “All that crap in the trunk was useless against Michael. So it had to be Sam. Took everything Dean taught him, made himself into the new weapon he needed. Made me. That’s what I am. I’m the house that Sam built. I’m new. And I’m too much. Even now, I’m not all here, in this cage the angel made. He isn’t strong enough to trap all of me. No one is.”

“God, Sam-“

“They aren’t strong enough either.”

The weeping continued, and a hand reached again in desperation.

“Touch me, and I’ll rip off your arm,” he snarled. When the hand retreated, he shrugged thoughtfully, and amended his threat. “Or mine. I probably don’t need two.” He hummed softly. Then he stopped. For the first time, he looked up into his visitor’s face. “Dean?” He blinked. “Did you bring me books?”

Dean was staring at him, and then he was sitting up straighter. Hope which Sam didn’t understand lit his eyes. “Sammy? You with me?”

Sam glanced around the room, with its white walls and cot. “They don’t let me have books. They take them away.” His eyes narrowed. “So I burn them.”

Dean took a deep breath. “Yeah. Um, you gotta stop that. Okay? Burning Cas when you get pissed off. He’s still not healing up the way he used to do, and...and, Sam, there’s no they. No them. Okay? It’s just you, me and Cas now. We bring you books all the time, but you...And, Sammy, even if Cas could heal up easy, it isn’t right to hurt him just because you can. You know?”

He glowered down at his own hands until the tips began to freeze and burn as though he were washing them in liquid nitrogen. “Sometimes I can’t help it. I’m sorry.”

“Hey! Same for you too, okay? I don’t care if you can heal this. Stop hurting my brother!”

He liked when Dean barked at him protectively like that. It reminded him of a time when he was a child, when he was a human, when he was human, when he was…

“Sam! Knock it off!”

He blinked again, and realized there was an excruciating pain ripping through his nervous system. “Oh,” he murmured. He made it stop. “I’m sorry.”

“Just us, man. And-and you gotta be a part of us again. You know? I can’t-I can’t keep this up without you.”

“Just us.” Sam burst into laughter and leaned back on his healed hands lazily. “How’s the rest of the world, Dean? How’s that pyre burning?”

His brother swallowed hard. He lowered those green eyes. “They’re rebuilding,” he muttered. “Those who are left.”

“There are billions left, Dean. Don’t worry. Humans are like cockroaches. They’ll never all be killed off.”

Dean lifted his gaze again to stare into Sam’s face. “You the one keeping the lights out, Sammy?”

A dull knife of guilt twisted into his stomach. “They hurt my eyes.”

The lights in the room weren’t flickering. They weren’t even on. He was flickering.

The man nodded. “The rest of us need them, Sammy. You know what’s out there in the dark.”

“I protect them from the predators.”

“That’s not good enough, Sam,” Dean snapped. “It’s not good enough to just not let them die. You gotta let them live too.”

“The power can be on during the day. Generators work at night for those who need them.”

“Yeah? And what happens when we run out of fuel, Sam? Solar only works in places where the infrastructure has already-“

“Then maybe the nations of this pitiful world should have gotten their acts together _before_ the lights went out!” Sam was on his feet now, staring down at the man he used to call brother. “Maybe they should have-“

But Dean didn’t intimidate easily. Not even when it came to staring down the Devil. “Maybe you should remember the reason we fought for them in the first place. Because they’re not nations, and they’re not billions, and they’re not cockroaches! They’re people, Sam! People!”

There was just an instant of hesitation before Sam laughed again. “That’s just what Gabriel was trying to say. Before I gutted him.”

Dean winced, and took a step back. “That wasn’t you.” But his voice wasn’t nearly so defiant as before.

Sam stepped forward to close the distance. “Why haven’t you tried to kill me yet, Dean? I’m what you’ve fought against your whole life. The same brand of cockroach beneath your boot. I’m just bigger. So why don’t you kill me already?”

“Could I kill you, Sammy?”

He stopped advancing, and sighed. “No. But you could try. You could want to. You could...you could try.” Two tears surprised him, flitting down his cheeks without permission. He burned them to steam with irritation, and left the salt trail behind. “You should try,” he croaked. “If you didn’t know Sam, you’d want to hunt Sam. Well, I’m not Sam. And you don’t know me. So do what you’ve been trained to do. What Dad ordered you to do.” With just a thought, he called to The Colt, and he pushed it toward Dean. “Hunt me.”

Those green eyes blinked helplessly against a stormy sea of moving emotion. Dean took hold of the gun, and raised it in shaky hands. Then he smiled sadly, and shrugged. “I can’t. I’d rather die.” He pushed the weapon back. “I can’t,” he breathed again.

“Probably wouldn’t have worked anyway,” Sam sighed. He tossed it over his shoulder carelessly. “Fine. Lights for the humans. If my eyes hurt too badly, I’ll remove them.”

There was some sick entertainment to be had in watching Dean flinch that way. Not so much as when the angel did it. But some.

The groaning sound of air conditioning units grinding to life after months of disuse filled the air. This time, as the lights flickered on, Sam was the one who cringed. He shielded his eyes, and sat on his cot miserably.

Dean huffed out his relief. “The power is on. The lights are on. Everywhere?”

“Everywhere but here,” Sam laughed humorlessly, as he tapped his own forehead. Then he lay down and turned away from his brother. There would be no more talk tonight.


	6. What Won’t He Do

It broke his heart to see the way Dean seemed to age ten years each time he emerged from Sam’s cell. The same heart Sam accused him of not having, the one that ached so terribly at night in the stiflingly hot air, the one that kept him doing what he was doing now.

He felt the generators kick on, and he sighed with relief. There had been another hungry pack stalking the place last night, and he and Dean had their hands full disposing of them. The apocalypse had been very bad for the humans and natural animals of this world. But it hadn’t been a carnival ride for the lycanthropic or vampiric or monstrous creatures either. Not to mention the angels.

He never did mention the angels. Not since he had become the only one.

The door slipped closed behind his friend, and he was glad for it. Dean didn’t need to know what Castiel was up to. It would only worry him. Dean had enough worries. He had muttered about small victories and lights, and then the rest was lost behind his large, ever-trembling hand. Something about doing a perimeter check before passing out. Castiel had let him go without a word.

It wasn’t until Castiel felt the air change around him that he realized what Dean had meant about small victories, and he felt a smile come over him. Sam had allowed for the use of electricity at night. It wasn’t just light. It was also the air conditioning machines, and a water heater, and all the other things which Dean refused to run. Dean said that it was wasteful to do much more than just charge the generators during the day, and he wouldn’t even use them except for dire needs at night. They had a few fans to move the air around, and that was good enough for Castiel, but he knew Dean suffered in the heat. He had tried to argue that using modern comforts during the day wouldn’t amount to much waste, not just for them, especially since the humans had their power plants and hydro dams up and running at least a few hours per day now. But Dean seemed determined to use as little for himself as possible. Castiel knew it was just another way he punished himself. It didn’t matter how illogical it was. Dean refused to be comforted.

So Castiel was gratified that Sam had allowed for use of the real grid. He hoped it was so everywhere. The humans would be relieved. Their efforts to keep going in spite of losses and grief and fear had been compounded by the frustration of the inexplicable loss of power upon sunset each day. The machines whirred again at dawn. But the nights were so black that Castiel suspected even the wolves which had tried to eat them the night before had found it disturbing. Out in the rural areas, the stars and moon, and the wind, helped. Here, the stale air and blackness just fed their depression. No one could explain it. No one but Castiel.

“What do you mean he’s doing it?” Dean had growled.

The nearly-angel had sighed. “I don’t know why. But I know he is somehow extending his powers beyond this empty hospital, and that he is doing it every dusk and dawn without fail. It’s too exact to be coincidence, isn’t it? He’s preventing the use of electricity during the nights.”

“What’s he hiding?”

Castiel had shrugged. “I don’t know that he’s bothering to hide anything. He’s been fairly forthcoming with whatever we’ve wanted to know. I don’t think he’s doing it to hide anything or hurt anyone. I wonder if he’s protecting himself. Something about the lights bothers him.”

“Well, that ain’t good enough. People are getting killed out there, every night. If nothing else, they’re scared. They’ve been through enough. And they’re saying they’ve got the bare bones of the power infrastructure back up and running in most populated places, but they can’t make it work at night. If he’s doing this…”

“Dean, he may not understand what he’s doing, or at least how destructive it is. He may not be doing it maliciously. I think-“

His friend snorted. “I know what you think. You think he’s innocent here. But he and I did this to ourselves, and we did it to everybody else too. Least we can do is not get between them and their recovery.”

“He saved us all, Dean.” The voice was deep but quiet. “Please don’t forget that. If you think what came to pass was terrible, you should know that it was meant to be far, far worse. There would be no rebuilding now, no infrastructure, as you call it, and lack of power at night would be the least of your problems. Sam saved us all.”

Dean was facing the cell door now. His back was to Castiel, but he could imagine the expression on the hunter’s weary face. “Yeah. After I damned us all.”

Castiel shook his head. “I told you. You didn’t do anything you weren’t supposed-“

“I did what I knew I shouldn’t have done. That’s all that matters, Cas. Don’t baby me. I knew it was wrong, and I did it anyway. Because I got scared. Because I didn’t think Sam would be strong enough against Lucifer, I gave Michael the advantage. Because he promised me he would protect the world, and he-he said he could bring Lucifer to heel, that so long as he had his Sword, the world would be-the world would be safe.”

“He lied.”

“He said I could trust him. I should have trusted Sam instead.”

“Dean? You did what you thought you had to do. Sam was one of the people you thought you were saving.”

The hunter took a jagged breath, and cleared his throat. “Yeah. Well, I’m going to go talk to him. See what he knows about the power outages. Come save my ass if he decides to smite me.”

“Of course.”

So Dean had talked Sam into relinquishing the power he was holding hostage. Castiel was glad. It would help with Dean’s nerves, if not his constant guilt. Perhaps the man would even sleep.

Dean didn’t like for Castiel to go into Sam’s cell alone. Sam had never hurt Dean. Castiel was a different story. Sam threatened Dean, but never followed through. Contrastly, Castiel never seemed to receive any warning before Sam attacked him. Reflexes being what they were, Castiel’s true fear was that one day Sam would lash out and Castiel’s instinct to retaliate would kick in before he could stop himself.

A strange realization came over him as he stepped into the cell now. The door sealed behind him. He could see The Colt, a weapon he had thought lost forever, lying abandoned in a corner. He stared at the enormous man in the too-small cot. “Sam?”

There came no response, nor any movement to indicate that he had even been heard.

He took another small step. “Sam? Did you expect Dean to use that gun on you?”

Still, there was no sound.

“And...and do you hurt me so that...Do you think I’ll…”

“You’re a soldier, Castiel. So is Dean. One day, you’ll do it. Today wasn’t Dean’s day. Maybe it’s yours. Pain won’t work on him. He’s been hurt his whole life. Desperation will make him do it one day. He’s not desperate enough today, it seems. What about you? You’re made to fight, Cas, to survive. If I catch you with your guard down one day...I don’t really think you’ll succeed. But I can make you try. Or I’ll make him try. And maybe one of you will surprise me.”

“We aren’t going to hurt you, Sam.”

“No. Probably not. But if he got desperate enough, if I made one of you use your warrior training...Maybe you’ll surprise me.”

“Sam, I won’t hurt you. I want to help you.”

“Yeah. You’ve made that plenty clear. And I’ve made it clear you’re an idiot for it.”

The heart he wasn’t supposed to have ached. “I know you think that. And I love you anyway. So if you want me tonight...Anything you want from me is yours to take. But I won’t do that.”

A peal of delighted, unstable laughter erupted from the bed. Sam turned onto his back with a grin. “I would do anything for love,” he cried out in a tune Castiel didn’t know. “I’d run right into Hell and back! I would do anything for love. I’ll never lie to you, and that’s a fact! And maybe I’m crazy, oh, it’s crazy and it’s true! I know you can save me. No one can save me now but you…” Sam seemed to choke on his words then, let them fade off, and there was a moment before he could continue. “I would do anything for love, anything you’ve been dreaming of. But I just won't do that…”

Castiel frowned through his tears. He didn’t know if this was another rock song Sam was mangling or if it was one of the rhymes the man seemed to constantly have running through his head, but he didn’t like it. It felt like mocking. It felt like Castiel was being stabbed through his definitely-there heart with his own words, his own promises. “Please don’t,” he whispered. “I only mean to say that-that I love you, Sam, and I’ll give you anything. But I won’t hurt you. Even if I could.”

Sam’s voice was quieter now, but he still smiled. “You talked about beating me over the head with a cricket bat, Cas.”

“I couldn’t actually hurt you, Sam. I think you know that.”

“You say you’d give me anything.”

His gaze had dropped miserably, but now he lifted it. “You know that too.”

“And if I want you?”

“I’m yours.” There was no hesitation. He had no reason or desire to be coy. Whatever Sam wanted from him, he would give. As long as it wasn’t a command to try to harm him, Castiel would comply. He couldn’t help it. He would let Sam strip him of the last of his sorry grace if it amused him to do it.

“Feed me again.”

He swallowed a whimper. “The blood? That’s what you want from me?”

“Angel blood burns, but Cas never learns. Feeds the thing he knew as Sam, till the Devil uses up the lamb. True that I could take from you what I need, but better that you offer yourself to bleed.”

Castiel was shaking from head to toe. Weeks ago, months now, he hadn’t known what it was to tremble with fear. Now it was a sickeningly familiar phenomenon. “You know it’s yours. If that’s all you’ll take from me, at least I can give you that.”

Hunger leered openly at him. “So feed me. It’s all I want from you. It’s all you’re good for now. The last remaining angel, the last remaining drop of angel blood. Both mine.”

His eyes closed. “Please, Sam. Don’t be cruel. I’ve promised you what I have. You know I’ll give it. There’s no need to be-“

“There’s never a need to be cruel. But there’s never a need not to be.”

“That’s not you. You’re trying to…”

“What? What am I trying to do?” Sam sprang from the bed to stalk forward, forcing Castiel to retreat, until he was backed into the wall. “You think you know what I am?”

“You’re afraid, Sam. Let me help you.”

He sneered. “Afraid? I could swat you like a fly. I’m not afraid of you!”

“Not of me,” he said sadly. “You’re afraid of what you’ll do. To me, to Dean.”

“What are you supposed to be to me?”

His heart pounded so hard it hurt. “He’s your brother. And I’m supposed to be your enemy, but I’ve given everything to be your friend. You should show me some respect.”

The hazel glare blinked until it softened. There was silence between them for several beats, during which time Castiel wondered if Sam might finally snuff him out as he had done to all the others. But instead, the man he loved smiled at him. “Friend,” he whispered, as though he couldn’t quite remember what the word meant. His fingers rose to touch tenderly at Castiel’s temple, to brush away strands of dark hair. Sam’s gaze painted Castiel’s face with an emotion the once-angel couldn’t identify. “Friend.”

“It’s what I want more than anything in the universe, Sam. I wanted it more than I wanted Heaven. More than my home, my family, my wings, my grace. I gave it all, because I believed in Dean and I wanted you. I died for you, Sam. I had no way of knowing I would be brought back. I died to protect you. To give your brother the chance he needed to save you.”

“To save the world from me,” Sam corrected. He was searching Castiel’s face relentlessly.

Sam’s hand was warmer than it had been in weeks. Castiel had only felt it burn cold in all this time. Hope filled him as he wondered frantically if something was changing, if something was finally getting through. “To save you, Sam. And maybe, through saving you, the world would also be saved. I was a very small angel, nearly so small as I am now, but I took on the archangel to buy your brother the time he needed to save you. What happened to the world after that...I didn’t even have the time to think that far. I simply hoped that you would be all right. For Dean and me, preventing the breaking of the last seal was our divine mission. Protecting you...that was always our hearts’ purpose.”

At last, Sam’s eyes lowered, releasing his prisoner. “I don’t want to hurt you anymore, Cas. I never wanted to hurt you.”

He dared to touch Sam’s wrist.

The creature flinched, and stumbled back. “Don’t touch me,” he moaned. But he held tight to Castiel himself.

“Sam, tell me how I can help you.”

“Helping me will damn the world, Castiel. It’s all I can do to keep the horde at bay now. They claw at me, seeking weakness; they smell it. If I let down my guard for even a moment, they’ll know I’m fading, and they’ll defy me. It’s every minute of every day and night. Especially the nights. In the dark, I can see them coming, and I can fight them, but the humans’ lights blind me, and their machines deafen me, and if I don’t stay vigilant, if I don’t crush those that would disobey me, they’ll rise in spite of me. It’s their nature, Castiel. I’m so tired. I can’t rest. I slept when I killed Michael, and do you know how much evil escaped Hell while I dreamed? I’ve fought them back down, but they claw at me all the time. Clawing, gnawing...brillig and the slithy toves…”

Castiel felt tears slipping down his cheeks. “Sam, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell us what you were doing? We could help you!”

The words poured from him without breath now. “The bandersnatches and the mome raths, every hour, they scrape at me, and I can’t see them in the light, can’t see them, Cas, but they’re there. If I don’t...They were afraid of Lucifer, and more afraid of me, but I can’t scare them into submission anymore, not if they can feel my need to rest. And the Shedim, Castiel. They were never afraid. They’re Hell's most savage things, and even Lucifer feared them.”

Castiel let his eyes widen. “The-the Shedim?”

“The hellhounds guard them, but I can’t keep them trapped forever. They claw at me, Cas. And truly? What would the hounds do if they ever decided to break free? They’re less guards than alarms. The Shedim would shred them in seconds, but maybe they would get off a howl or two so I would know…”

“They’re trapped. Since Lucifer made them in his fit of spite, they’ve been trapped. Since before even the demon princes were made, they’ve been trapped.”

“Cas? What if the Shedim are only trapped because they think they are?”

The words made his own blood freeze, and he shivered without meaning to. He took a breath to calm his nerves. “Sam? Do you trust me?”

“Trust you?” He repeated the words like he was tasting them. “You’ve never given me any reason not to trust you. But you can’t trust me, so it would be stupid of me to trust you. Unless you’re stupid. Which sometimes you are, but usually for the right reasons.”

The angel stepped back to scowl at him for that. But he was thoughtful. “With my blood, you were able to kill Michael. What would it take for you to be free, Sam? Could it do that too?”

Sam’s broad shoulders shrugged, nearly touching his hair. “It’s the only thing I can think of. If Dean wants the lights on, I have to have something else. I’m blind to them, and deaf, and most of the time I’ve lost my mind too. I’ve got power but no way to use it. I can’t fight what I can’t see coming, Cas.”

He nodded, and walked toward the cot to sit on it. Sam joined him, almost shyly. “Sam? You may drain me of anything you need. Anything I have is yours. I understand better now why you want it. But that part hasn’t changed. I was always willing to give you anything. I love you, Sam. Thank you for fighting for us. I’m sorry for what it’s doing to you.”

“They’re in my head, Cas,” the hunter hissed. “All the time. They push at the boundaries of my powers, clawing all the time, looking for weakness that you and I both know is there, but that I can’t let them find. Hail Mary is angel’s blood, and angel’s blood worked before. It’s the only thing that might push them from me for good. It’ll burn me up, but it’ll burn them off. Like a forest fire in the Tulgey Wood, to frighten off the jubjub and the bandersnatch, to leave the Shedim, those mome raths, too intimidated to try again...Then the world can be truly saved by my brother, Michael’s vorpal sword, and the Jabberwock can finally rest.”

“You think one show of power will be enough to warn them away? To cow them into submission so that they don’t dare challenge you?”

“Paint the roses, paint them all blood red, and maybe no one will see them for what they really are, just a scared boy in a white suit.”

Castiel nodded again. In a fit of lunacy, he took gentle hold of Sam’s face in both hands, and kissed his lips.

Sam was staring at him in terror when he lifted himself away again.

“We will save you, Sam. No matter what it takes. No matter what you have to take from me. You’ve held out for us, even when you clearly wanted to give up, even when you’ve tried to coax us into trying to end you. We won’t do that. We will save you. Do what you need to do, my friend, with my blessing.”

“I love you, Cas,” Sam wept. “I’m always going to love you. As long as there is any me left, there will be love for you.”

That was the night the lights came back on all over the world, even in Castiel’s broken heart.


	7. Still, Always

The blast effectively leveled three city blocks. But that was all right. Those blocks were entirely peopled by the Croats. As Lucifer had once said...they were just demons. 

Dean had confirmed the success by radio. “We’re safe here,” he began. “The humans, that is. I got calls from hunters and survivor bases all over the place coming in, reporting that black smoke is checking out everywhere. Cas, it’s as far as our network extends. It’s incredible.”

Castiel was watching Sam without blinking, but he nodded and responded. “When you say black smoke is checking out…”

“People nobody knew were possessed started coughing out black smoke, like the demons were all panicked. Flying straight into the ground.”

“Rats from a burning ship,” Sam muttered with dark disgust. 

The angel stared. 

“Cas? You okay? Is Sam…He’s all right, isn’t he? You said you didn’t think it would hurt him!”

“I’m fine,” Sam snapped. His voice carried over the radio waves without the use of the device, and Castiel could hear it crackle on Dean’s end ominously. 

“Sammy? God, Sam. I think-I think you did it!” Dean’s laugh was a surreal contrast to the humorless tone he had used for the last several months. It lit hope in the angel’s heart to hear it. “The demons? Are they really gone? All of them?”

“Not gone. Buried. And too chastened to defy me again.”

Castiel took a breath. “Dean, keep us up to date. Be safe, my friend.”

“You too, buddy. And, hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“Thank you. For your part in this. Not just today. You know? Every day, and all you’ve done. I haven’t always been...Anyway, thank you. Watch over my beautiful mind brother, will you?”

“Of course. Always.”

“The celebrations are going on all over the planet. I’m going to join in. Maybe I don’t deserve to, but...but for the first time in a really long time, I feel like we got something to celebrate. I’ll see you guys in a few days.”

“Say hello to Cassie Robinson. And please thank her for her effort in connecting survivors. She has been tireless. I hope she will celebrate with you. You both deserve it.”

Dean didn’t bother to respond, indicating that he wasn’t yet ready to acknowledge that he might have earned some part in the victory. But Castiel knew he had. It had been Dean’s idea to amplify Sam’s powerful blast of energy by carrying it across radio waves, and broadcasting with the use of satellites which could still be accessed. He had reasoned that the radio waves would not damage the fragile infrastructure or environment, nor the people, but it would carry Sam’s “message” to every part of the world. 

The message, as Dean had referred to it, could only be delivered a single time, so it had to reach as far as it possibly could. He had sought out his old romantic interest, a journalist called Cassie, and some of Bobby’s old hunter friends who had made it through the war, who thought they could help reach others. Cassie had located two hackers named Charlie and Kevin, who had found one another in the chaos of the Apocalypse. After several days of networking, a group calling themselves the “Nigerian Men of Letters” offered up communication technology under the condition that no one asked any questions about how it all worked. Dean had rolled his eyes and referred to them as “The Wakanda Factor” for the rest of the scheme, and had made the promise on behalf of his team. The Charlie person, whose own username was RedMoonQueen, had approved the codename, which Castiel had not understood, and her friend Kevin, aka APSolo, had called them all nerds, then had spent an entire conference call drunkenly lamenting the fact that the Apocalypse had left them with Iron Man 2, but no Thor or Captain America which he had been looking so forward to, let alone any chance of a possible introduction to a cinematic Wakanda, which Castiel had also not understood, to which Charlie had snapped back that there would never be a Deathly Hallows, Part II, and both hackers had begun to cry, which Castiel definitely had not understood. 

Dean had barely slept for weeks, preparing for implementation of their plan. He knew Sam was growing impatient, but he had insisted that they do things right, and that meant linking as much of the world as possible for one major event which would last just moments, but which could save it all. He and his ragtag band had managed to rope together a network of individuals and groups and even governments which would all amplify a message originating from Chicago, to all demons on the planet. It helped, Castiel supposed, that no one any longer had any skepticism about the existence of the supernatural in general, and demons in particular. 

The message was a lethal warning. 

The consumption of the angel’s blood had provided the strength Sam needed to send out a blinding, deafening, scorching wave in every direction, slaughtering demons and Croats in an enormous radius. The message was picked up by radio systems and blasted out across every available network, on every available medium. Even those demons who could not feel the effect themselves could at least hear and sense it. 

Their Boy King was displeased with their scheming and mischief, and every last one of his subjects trembled to feel his wrath. Those which did not burn into nothing in an instant were repelled from their hiding spaces among humans and whipped back to Hell to quake in fear. None escaped his reach, thanks to the work of the humans. The deadly potency was thanks to the angel blood. The sneering, intimidating exorcism, spat from a young man’s lips, echoed and reverberated against the walls of Hell like nothing even the most ancient among them had ever known. It promised them each a fate far worse than oblivion if any among them tried to challenge their King’s absolute rule. They were to remain in the depths in perpetuity, lest they be shattered against the King’s wrath. Unless called upon by Sam himself, they were not to rise to the surface for any reason. Souls would ascend or fall according to every ancient tradition, but would not be helped along by demon deals and manipulation. Angels were no longer a factor on earth, and neither now were demons. Humans would bless or damn themselves without help, and good riddance to them. Only the reapers still remained, and among those, only the most neutral. 

Even the Shedim had ceased in their scraping against their cage. 

“It’s quiet,” Sam said after a very long time. 

Castiel continued to watch him. 

Sam sat on the ground, in the center of the garden where his white roses had been before the explosion had radiated from him. He was cross-legged, and still wearing the white nursing scrubs they had found at the psychiatric hospital for him. He was pale gray, except for his hazel eyes rimmed in red. His trademark beautiful hair seemed brittle. He seemed fragile altogether, as if a slight touch or breeze might make him crumble into dust as surely as his roses had done. 

“Are you all right?” he asked softly. 

“It’s been almost an hour. I’ve felt nothing creeping around since the message went out.”

“I meant you, Sam. Are you all right?”

“I’m tired.”

For some reason, this caused some relief in Castiel. “That’s okay. You can rest now. Can’t you?”

“I haven’t slept since we brought back Dean. You know that, right? I’ve dozed, but I haven’t slept in all this time. Not since I passed out after killing Michael.”

The angel sighed. “I’m so sorry, Sam. I never needed sleep until I fell from Heaven’s gate, but I understand better now how important it is. And how painful it is to go without it.”

“The souls of Hell fuel me. But they don’t revive me. I was beginning to think that would have to be enough. I’d like to sleep again, Cas. It’s all quiet now. I can sleep.”

Castiel smiled. 

“I’m going to sleep right here,” he decided. “Here, where roses used to grow. Where they will grow again one day, because we saved the world. Will you lie down with me, Castiel?”

He lowered himself to the ground with weary satisfaction. When he had the enormous man in his arms, he closed his eyes. They were utterly alone now. There was no one, not for miles. They could rest in peace now. “You did not choose to drain me of my grace,” he murmured at last. 

Sam didn’t answer right away. He lay still for a long while, then took a deep breath. “You thought I would. You thought I’d take all of your grace and your blood. Your life.”

“You could have.”

“You expected me to.”

Castiel sighed again. “I didn’t pretend to know what to expect. Dean trusted you when you said you could do this. He didn’t know you would have to feed from me to do it. I knew, but I didn’t know how much, if anything, would be left after.”

Sam hummed in agreement. “It had to be done. I was willing to risk you because it had to be done. But I wasn’t going to take anything I didn’t need. I’d burn through my own soul before I drained you to death. I would only have harmed you if it were necessary, if nothing else could do it. And if it had come to that...I would have killed you, Cas, but it would have killed me to do it. There would have been nothing left. I burned off every demon on the planet and frightened every monster into deep hiding, with what you gave me. I took only what I needed to get it done. And I thank you for that. You’ll heal, won’t you?”

“Eventually, my grace will restore itself to full power, and my blood is already doing so now.”

“I’m glad.”

“Will you be all right after this, Sam? You’ll heal too?”

“The slithy todes slink back into the ground and shadows, and the Jabberwock will finally sleep tonight, no longer terrified that the bandersnatches will rise behind him while his eyes are closed. And sleep will heal me. I will have to continue to rule over the depths, Castiel. You know that. But Lucifer did it from inside a box throughout most of eternity. I can do it from inside your arms.”

Warmth flushed through him. “Let us sleep then, my love. Any strength I employ is yours, at your whimsy, and my arms will always be open to you.”

Minutes beat by before the next words, but they were infinitely worth waiting for. “Cas? I am still Sam, aren’t I? Still my brother’s brother. Still my father’s son. Still Mary’s. I’m still a hunter, and still your friend, now your lover. After everything, I’m still Sam, aren’t I?”

He wrapped his arms tighter around the most powerful being in existence. “Yes,” he breathed. “After everything, you are still Sam.”


End file.
